


the course of true love never did run smooth

by emonemotheturtle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bombs, Crying while writing, Eurus is Evil, F/M, Feels, Gen, I'm Sorry, ILY scene, Injured Molly, Sad Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlolly - Freeform, The Final Problem, eurus can't be trusted, slight AU, things go very wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 07:23:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emonemotheturtle/pseuds/emonemotheturtle
Summary: Things were fine until the explosion.TFP ILY scene but things go very wrong.





	1. Intro: Time Runs Out

**Author's Note:**

> credit to Ariene DeVere for TFP transcript

The countdown on the screen dropped from 00:31 and continued downwards. Mycroft, his head raised again, opened his mouth but no words escaped. Sherlock faced the screen, his eyes closed. He took a breath, summoning the strength to say the words.  
His voice came out small and hesitant. “I-I … I love you.” He looks at the screen; his face softens. “I love you” he breathes.  
Molly closed her eyes again for a moment and then brought the phone round to look at its screen. Sherlock stared at the screen anxiously.  
“Molly?”  
The countdown reaches 00:13. Molly brings her hand round towards the screen. It looked as if she was about to hang up as she lifted the phone closer to her mouth. Sherlock stepped closer to the screen, his expression frantic.  
“Molly, please.”  
Gazing into the distance and holding the phone in both hands, Molly rubbed a finger across her mouth. John stared towards the screen in dread, trembling slightly. Mycroft took another step towards the screen, his eyes wide and his mouth open as he breathed heavily. Molly took her finger from her mouth and took in a breath. With her mouth almost touching the phone, she spoke softly.  
“I love you.”  
Sherlock gasped and reared back from the screen, burying his head in both hands. Both John and Mycroft heaved out noisy sighs of relief.  
None of them noticed that the clock didn’t stop.


	2. I Did Everything And It Didn't Matter

They heard the explosion.  
Sherlock whipped back around to look at the screen, just in time to see it go dark.  
“What the hell?!” John bellowed.  
“No… Molly…” Sherlock choked out. He became angrier and more frantic with every second. “No! I won! I saved her! I saved Molly Hooper! You can’t do this!”  
“Except I did” Eurus sneered from the screen. “Oh, do be sensible. Look what you did to her. Look what you did to yourself. All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time.”  
Sherlock seemed to shrivel into himself as he turned away from the screen. He walked past the coffin, noisily dropping the pistol down beside it and continuing on towards the lid propped up against the wall.  
One of the doors slid open. Mycroft turned to look at it.  
“In your own time.”  
Sherlock picked up the lid, turned, and walked towards the coffin while Mycroft and John headed for the open door. Sherlock put the lid into place on top of the coffin while the others turned back to watch him. He lay his hand on the top and slowly drew it across the lid towards him, his eyes lowered as he let out a single quiet sob.  
“Sherlock?” John’s voice echoed from the doorway.  
“No. No.”  
Sherlock’s face twisted with rage. He pulled back his right arm and smashed it with all his strength down onto the lid, shattering it. He then slammed both fists down onto the lid again and again, then seized the side of the coffin and lifted the whole thing before smashing it down repeatedly on top of the trestles, disintegrating the box into pieces while he cried out over and over again in rage, grief and frustration. Eventually he let out a long anguished scream which echoed upwards into the chimney and up into the air above the prison as thunder rumbled.  
John and Mycroft could only watch.  
Sherlock finally collapsed against the wall in a heap. Rage and grief still wracked his body causing his entire being to vibrate with raw emotion and energy. His breathing was shallow and ragged.  
Eventually, a sort of resignation came over Sherlock and he stilled. His breathing evened. After a few minutes, John slowly walked across the room, avoiding all the splintered wood lying around, and bent down to pick up the pistol from the floor. Straightening up, he cleared his throat softly and walked across to where Sherlock was sitting with his back against the wall, staring down at the floor in front of him. Mycroft stood and watched them from just outside the open door. John stopped a few paces in front of his friend.  
“Look, I know this is difficult and I know you’re being tortured, but you have got to keep it together long enough for us to get out of here.” John’s voice was firm but sympathetic. He knew all too well what his friend was feeling in that moment.  
Sherlock didn’t look up. “This isn’t torture; this is vivisection. We’re experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats,” he spat. Just then he breathed out loudly and raised his head to rest it against the wall behind him and gazed upwards. Sherlock glanced in Mycroft’s direction without turning his head, then swallowed and looks up at John. “I did everything. I made her say it. I hurt her and it didn’t even matter.”  
“Soldiers today.” John insisted.  
Sherlock swallowed hard and nodded. “Soldiers.”  
John bent down and held out his right hand to Sherlock, who took it with his own right hand. John pulled him to his feet. Sherlock buttoned his jacket and John blew out a breath as they walked side-by-side to the doorway, John holding out the pistol and Sherlock taking it as they went.


	3. Remembering the Governor... Joining Molly

Just as they reached the doorway the lights turn red and Jim’s voice comes over the speakers.  
“Tick-tock, tickets please!”  
The doorway lead directly into another grey-walled room. The lights turned white again.   
“Hey, sis, don’t mean to complain but this one’s empty. What happened? Did you run out of ideas?”  
The screens flickered on and showed Eurus still sitting in the governor’s office.  
“It’s not empty, Sherlock. You’ve still got the gun, haven’t you? I told you you’d need it, because only two can play the next game. Just two of you go on from here; your choice. It’s make-your-mind-up time. Whose help do you need the most – John or Mycroft? It’s an elimination round. You choose one and kill the other. You have to choose family or friend. Mycroft or John Watson?”  
Sherlock turns round to face the others.   
The lights turn red and Jim appears on the screens, tilting his head from one side to the other as he whispers loudly through his teeth. “Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.”  
“Eurus, enough!” Mycroft growled.  
“Not yet, I think. But nearly. Remember, there’s a plane in the sky, and it’s not going to land.”  
Mycroft rubbed his hands over his face and then stepped forward towards Sherlock.  
“Well?”  
“Well, what?”  
“We’re not actually going to discuss this, are we?” He turned to John. “I’m sorry, Doctor Watson. You’re a fine man in many respects,” then turning back to his brother, “Make your goodbyes and shoot him.” When Sherlock didn’t move he said again, louder, “Shoot him!”  
“What?” John pipped in.  
“Shoot Doctor Watson. There’s no question who has to continue from here. It’s us; you and me. Whatever lies ahead requires brainpower, Sherlock, not sentiment. Don’t prolong his agony; shoot him.”  
“Do I get a say in this?” John retorts.  
“Today, we are soldiers. Soldiers die for their country. I regret, Doctor Watson, that privilege is now yours.”  
John clenched his jaw. “Shit. He’s right.” John then turned to face his friend. “He is, in fact, right.”  
Mycroft was looking at John though his words were directed at Sherlock. “Make it swift. No need to prolong his agony. Get it over with … and we can get to work.”  
John straightened his posture, bracing himself, becoming the soldier he promised to be. Sherlock lowered his head and half-turns away. Mycroft scoffed at the sight, chuckling sarcastically.  
“God! I should have expected this. Pathetic. You always were the slow one …”  
(Sherlock tilted one eyebrow.  
“... the idiot. That’s why I’ve always despised you. You shame us all. You shame the family name. Now, for once in your life, do the right thing. Put this stupid little man out of all our misery. Shoot him.”  
“Stop it.” Sherlock’s voice was barely audible.  
“Look at him. What is he?” Mycroft continued. “Nothing more than a distraction; a little scrap of ordinariness for you to impress, to dazzle with your cleverness. You’ll find another.”  
“Please, for God’s sake, just stop it.” Sherlock cut him off. “Ignore everything he just said. He’s being kind. He’s trying to make it easy for me to kill him.” He lifted the gun slightly, studying it.  
“Sherlock. Don’t.” John whispered.  
“It’s not your decision, Doctor Watson. This is my fault, brother mine… Moriarty.”  
“Moriarty?”  
“Her Christmas treat: five minutes’ conversation with Jim Moriarty five years ago… unsupervised.”  
John’s mouth dropped open and he stumbled back a step.  
“No flowers…”  
“No.” Sherlock said tightly, through clenched teeth. “Five minutes. It took her just five minutes to do all of this to us.” He looked at each of the men. “Well, not on my watch. A moment ago, a brave man asked to be remembered. I’m remembering the governor. I’m joining Molly.” Holding the pistol in both hands, he lifted the muzzle and pressed the end under his chin. “Ten…”  
“No, no, Sherlock.” Eurus wailed.  
“Nine…”  
John and Mycroft glanced at each other then back at Sherlock.  
“Eight…”  
“You can’t!” Eurus cried.  
“Seven…”  
“You don’t know about Redbeard yet.” Eurus tried to tempt him.  
“Six…”  
“Sherlock, stop that at once!” She screeched.  
“Five…”  
A small dart whizzed out of a round hole in the wall and impacted the back of Sherlock’s head.  
“Four…”  
Another dart shot out into the back of John’s neck. He reached round for it. Sherlock pulled the dart from his own neck.  
“Three…” His voice started fading. “Two…”  
The world went black.


	4. The First Case And The Final Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took a while and I cut out a lot but I was getting bored and I assume you've all seen the episode if you're reading this.

“Hello?”  
Sherlock opened his eyes to a very small rectangular room with black walls and a black floor. He was laying on a wooden table, about six feet long and maybe three feet wide. There were chairs either side and a lit lantern sat on the floor.   
“Hello? Are you still there?”  
Groaning, Sherlock pushed himself up with his arms, putting one hand to the side of his head. The girl’s voice was coming from an earpiece rather than from speakers in the room.  
“Yeah, I’m here.” John’s voice this time.  
“John! Where are you?”  
“I don’t know. I’ve just woken up. Where are you?”  
He studied two panels of the wall which had a small gap between them and a photo of a teenage Sherlock stuck across the gap is fluttering slightly. Frowning, he lowered his gaze to the bottom of the wall. There’s a small gap between the wall and the floor. He put the lantern onto the floor. Then he raised both hands and slammed them hard against the wall. The entire wall fell outwards and drops to the ground outside. In front of him was a very familiar burnt-out house. He stared at it wide-eyed.  
“I’m home. Musgrave Hall.”  
“Me and Jim Moriarty, we got on like a house on fire … which reminded me of home.”  
“Eurus, let me speak to the little girl on the plane and I’ll play any game you like.” Sherlock demanded.  
“First find Redbeard.” Eurus’s voice was slow and precise. “At long last, Sherlock Holmes, it’s time to solve the Musgrave ritual.”  
“Sherlock? Sherlock!”  
“John.”  
The girl screamed in his earpiece. “Help me! Help me, please!”  
“The well is flooding.” John’s voice was frantic.  
“Eurus, you said the answer’s in the song … but I went through the song line by line all those years ago and I found nothing. I couldn’t find anything. And there-there was a beech tree in the grounds and I dug. I dug and dug and dug and dug. Sixteen feet by six; sixteen yards; sixteen metres – and I found nothing. No-one.” Sherlock pleaded.  
“It was a clever little puzzle, wasn’t it? So why couldn’t you work it out, Sherlock?”  
“Sherlock? There’s something you need to know.” John’s voice was heavy now  
(Sherlock lowers his hands, breathing heavily.)  
“Emotional context. And he-e-e-e-re it comes.”  
“The bones I found…”  
“They’re dogs’ bones. That’s Redbeard.” Sherlock cut him off.  
“They’re not dogs’ bones.” John muttered.  
“Remember Daddy’s allergy? What was he allergic to? What would he never let you have all those times you begged? Well, he’d never let you have a dog. You were upset so you told yourself a better story, but we never had a dog.” Eurus had started cheery but her voice went cold now.  
“Victor Trevor… We played pirates. I was Yellowbeard and he was … he was Redbeard.”  
Sherlock looked away as he begins to realise what started his sister’s behaviour. Eventually he sighed and lowered his head, closing his eyes. “Oh. Oh God. What did you do? You killed him? You killed my best friend.” Sherlock couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. “Okay.” he said, collecting himself “Okay, let’s play.”  
He picked up the lantern from the floor and ran outside, hurrying around the side of the house, through an open gate and into the graveyard at the back of the house.  
“Hello? Are you there?” The girl called out again.  
“Need your help. I’m trying to solve a puzzle.” Sherlock said hurriedly.  
“But what about the plane?”  
“Well, the puzzle will save the plane.”  
“The wrong dates. She used the wrong dates on the gravestones as the key to the cipher and the cipher was the song.”  
“Is this strictly relevant?” John shouted.  
“Yes, it is. I’ll be with you in a minute.”  
“The lights are getting closer.”  
“Hush, now. Working.”  
I ... am ... lost ... Help ... me ... brother ... Save ... My ... Life ... Before ... my ... Doom.  
I ... am ... Lost ... Without ... your ... love ... Save ... My ... soul ... seek ... my ... room.  
“Oh God.”  
Sherlock raced back towards the house.  
The girl cried out again, panic-stricken.  
“I think it’s time you told me your real name.”  
“I’m not allowed to tell my name to strangers.”  
Sherlock reached a closed door on the landing and stops in front of it.  
“But I’m not a stranger, am I? I’m your brother.”


	5. Getting Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get out of Eurus's game. Lestrade brings news about Molly.

Lestrade walked up to John and Sherlock. “I just spoke to your brother.”  
“How is he?”  
“He’s a bit shaken up, that’s all. She didn’t hurt him; she just locked him in her old cell.”  
“What goes around comes around.” John chided.  
“Yeah. Give me a moment, boys.”  
He started to walk past them but turns back when Sherlock spoke quietly.  
“Oh, um. Mycroft – make sure he’s looked after. He’s not as strong as he thinks he is.”  
“Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”  
He turns to walk away again.  
“Thanks, Greg.”  
John, who has been huddling into his blanket, lifts his head and Greg turns back again and looks at him in surprise before walking away.  
“You okay?”  
“I said I’d bring her home. I can’t, can I? And Molly, I did everything but she’s still gone.”  
“Yeah, well… It is what it is.”  
“It is what it is.”

“The helicopter ready?” Lestrade called to a police officer.  
“Mm-hm. Is that him, sir? Sherlock Holmes?”  
“Fan, are you?”  
“Well, he’s a great man, sir.”  
“No, he’s better than that… He’s a good one.” Lestrade looked back at the detective. “I’ll go get them.”

“Okay,” Lestrade started. “We’re taking the two of you to Bart’s to be checked out. Then I can keep an eye on Molly Hooper too.”  
“What?” John asked.  
“Molly Hooper. Someone planted some low grade explosives in her flat. We got her out but she’s in tough shape.”  
“Molly’s alive?” Sherlock whispered.  
“I haven’t heard otherwise.” Lestrade clarified.  
Sherlock made eye contact with the detective inspector. “Take me to her. Now.”


	6. How is this supposed to complete me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sits by Molly's bedside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient. Enjoy!

Sherlock stood in the doorway to Molly’s hospital room. She was covered in tubes and wires. The machines surrounding beeped steadily. John walked up behind him. 

“You could go in and sit down. You could use the rest anyway.”

Sherlock took a step forward hesitantly. He slowly found his way to the chair waiting in the corner. He lowered himself halfway before allowing himself to sink into the chair under the weight of the day.

John watched his best friend fidget with the bandages on his hands--a reminder of that room with the coffin, before turning to collect his daughter and head home.

 

Sherlock sat in the corner of Molly’s room as doctors and nurses came and left, running tests and monitoring. 

“Are you the husband?” they’d  ask.

“No I’m… I’m just… I’m a friend” he’d reply meekly.

One nurse in particular responded with “Honey, no friend sits here this long.”

 

John returned the next morning with some flowers for Molly’s room. The scene was exactly as he’d left it. Sherlock didn’t appear to have moved even an inch.

“How’s she doing?” John asked, setting the vase on the table.

“Stable but not awake.” Sherlock’s voice held none of its usual superiority of his intelligence or deduction.

“And you?”

The detective finally peeled his eyes off the bed and glanced at his friend standing over him. “I don’t understand,” he started. “How is this supposed to complete me? How does this cause anything but pain?”

“What?” John asked, taken aback slightly.

“Romantic entanglement. Sentiment. I showed my hand the last time with Moriarty, my trust of and caring for Molly. And now she’s lying in a hospital--all she did was love me. I have caused her so much pain.”

“You really love her.” John studied his friend.

“Of course. The nameplate on the coffin--those are never left by the ones who have died.” Sherlock looked down at his hands. “It was never about who loved me, only who I loved.”

“Sherlock…” John’s voice trailed off. He could’ve made jokes. The high functioning sociopath who repeatedly claimed that sentiment was a chemical defect fell in love with the ordinary pathologist. But, upon seeing how much pain his friend was one, decided those could wait.

“What do I do?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“You have to tell her,” John asserted. “Love makes you vulnerable to pain but in the end,” he looked toward the bed, thinking of Mary, “it’s worth it.” John placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder gently before leaving the room.

 

Sherlock sat there deep in thought. He thought about all the reasons he shouldn’t love her.

_ Once you open your heart you can’t close it again. _

_ Your death is something that happens to everyone else. _

_ To love someone is to accept their death as something that will happen to you. _

_ Alone protects me. _

But here he was, loving her in spite of all that. He thought about John and Mary.

_ She taught me to be the man she already thought I was. _

_ She has completely turned my life around. _

_ Being Mary Watson was the only life worth living. _

_ Get yourself a piece of that. _

Then he thought of Molly. God, Molly.

_ If you need anything you can have me. _

_ I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper. _

_ You can see me. _

_ It’s always been true. _

Sherlock suddenly stood up and walked over to Molly’s bed. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” His voice was hoarse.

It wasn’t rational--any of it, but  he couldn’t stop.

“Molly please… I love you.”

  
  


 


	7. I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly wakes up

Molly’s eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the fluorescent light of the hospital room. Her body ached. She tried to sit up but her limbs felt foreign and weak.

“No. No, don’t try to move, Molly.”

The voice was familiar even in her fog.

“Sh- Sherlock” her strangled voice barely managed a whisper.

“Shhh. It’s okay, Molly.”

“We- on the- phone.”

“Molly…” His hand brushed the hair off her face.

“I said- you said-” Molly’s eyes turned sad.

“I can explain…”

Molly squeezed her eyes shut. Her breathing became more shallow and ragged. Between the pain throughout her body and the memories of what had happened, she couldn’t contain her tears.

“Stop it” she sobbed. “Don’t. Just stop already.”

The pain on her face was almost unbearable. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to take away her anguish.

“Molly,” his voice was gentle but desperate. He cupped her face in his hand. Molly tried to pull his hand away but just ended up sort of grasping it. “I meant it. I love you, Molly. I love you. I love you.”

Her protests stopped as his words hit her.

He loved her.

  
  



End file.
